A Light at the End of the Tunnel
by SableUnstable
Summary: He's lost. They wait. Will he come back to them whole or in broken little pieces they'll have to reassemble? Will he come back to them at all? SiRemione one-shot, true triad, rated M for language. Written for Siriusly Orion Wicked.


**A Light at the End of the Tunnel**

 **Disclaimer:** I has no ownership of Harry Potter author thingsies.

 **A/N -** This is written for the beautiful and wonderful **Siriusly Orion Wicked** because she's beautiful and wonderful and she's my friend **.** Hope you like it, hun! Also, it's no way near as fluffy as I'd like because I just can't seem to help writing a broken Remus. Ah, well. Enjoy! :D

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The rain howls furiously and lashes against the window, turning the brightness of day into a stormy dark, cold and lonely night. Hermione sits on the window ledge, one leg tucked up under her. Her gaze is unfocused as she watches the raindrop - rain _darts_ \- slam into the pane, and every time the wind shrieks and rattles the glass, she shivers.

They've been waiting a week. A week. An endless, horribly long _week._ She swallows hard and rubs a hand between her breasts, her chest aching. Behind her, the soft mutter of voices shadow the ever-constant rumble of thunder, and Hermione presses the heel of her hand harder, as if the pressure will right the incompleteness inside of her. Or stop her heart from slamming out of her chest.

Where is he?

Why doesn't he come home?

 _Can't_ he come home?

A body takes the seat next to her. Hermione's gaze flitters from the window, meeting the smoke grey eyes quickly and then looking away. He doesn't say anything but fingers soon lace with hers, large and warm and deeply lined, and the strength and solidness of them has a rough hiccup of distress erupting from Hermione's chest, the sound quieting the rest of the occupants of the room so abruptly, she cringes.

"I wish they'd all go home," she mutters at the window after the talking has started again, jarringly louder than before. A corner of Sirius's mouth tuns up a little. His grip tightens.

"You know that's not going to happen, love," he says, back straight and gaze on the room, the only thing connecting them their fingers. "He's theirs too. You couldn't keep them away."

"I don't want them here."

"You do," Sirius says, turning to look at her calmly. "You do, Hermione. Trust me."

Because she does, she's silent again, and Sirius mirrors her, the sound of his gentle breathing wrapping her up in what should have been contentment. His eyes wander to her every few minutes or so, the storm continues to blast, and the heat of Sirius's hand winds along her skin. It's drugging her, nudging at her, but also highlighting the other bit that isn't there, and Hermione's lips are flat and white and just beginning to tremble when he sighs and grumbles under his breath.

"Why are you always so fucking stubborn?"

Her stiffness lasts barely a second when his arms wrap around her, drawing her across the space between them and into his lap. His lips press against her hair, her forehead, the curve of her jaw, and when a sob gets stuck in her throat, her lips. He kisses her in whisper-like movements, his hands framing her face. When he pulls back, she buries her face in his neck, and Sirius lays his cheek atop her head.

"He's fine."

"You can't know that," she mumbles into his skin. She's clutching at him like a human vise and Sirius shakes his head, drawing her impossibly closer.

"I can. I do." His hands on her back flex and shake and then clench into fists, knuckles white. "I have to believe it. I don't have any other choice."

Remembering that she isn't the only one hurting doesn't lessen the hurt any, but it does have another type of worry rearing its head. Leaning back, her hands cup his chin, and it makes her eyes burn to see the fear in his gaze; fear he's desperately trying to hide from her.

"He's fine," she murmurs, staring into his eyes and repeating his words back at him, and it's as if saying them to him makes them real, because she believes them in a sudden rush of clarity. She _believes_ them. Her husband is fine and he's coming home; coming back to them. They just need to wait.

They just need to wait.

Sirius's eyes trace her expression, and his shoulders lift, then fall in one long, boneless movement, his explosion of breath ruffling her hair. He hauls her so close they're all but one, and folds himself around her, his hair hanging over his face. Hermione clutches his lapels and says it over and over against his chest.

"He's fine. He's fine. He's fine. He's fine."

"I'll fucking kill him if he isn't."

"No blood on the carpet, my love."

There's a pause and then Sirius laughs, and the sound quiets the room again. This time, Hermione turns. Her smile is brittle and her eyes are wet. But from his arms, she does smile, and the murmur of voices sets to again; their friends.

Their friends.

Remus thinks the worst but he just doesn't see. She's made it a mission to open his eyes, something she's realized over time she may never achieve. Remus has lived most of his life with a monster inside him, both physical and metaphorical, and she doesn't think they'll ever be a time when that monster doesn't haunt who he is and who he tries to be. His world is small and centred, a tiny corner he's tried to shut off to himself from the very beginning.

He hadn't been expecting Sirius.

She hadn't been expecting either of them. Already a couple who'd been through one war and come out the other side not entirely whole when they'd met a very young Hermione, they'd had many obstacles to overcome. Their postwar world wasn't perfect; still isn't perfect years later. Far from it. But they'd carved out their own little patch of perfect eventually. They're happy together, the three of them.

Happy enough, the metaphorical monster had slipped to the back of her mind.

So many people waiting for him. Hermione's eyes flick from person to person. Her friends mainly, that've become Sirius and Remus's in the years they've been together. Ron, Luna, Neville, Draco, Daphne, Pansy, the Weasleys, Blaise, Seamus, Dean, the Weasleys. The Weasleys. The Weasleys who'd been a force to be reckoned with in the beginning when Hermione had been healing and looking for her place in the destroyed world, and her two wizards that weren't hers yet had been denying to everyone and each other that they didn't fancy the nineteen year old witch like mad. Shockingly, it'd been Molly that had taken each by the ear and told them to get their acts together because life was too short.

" _You want her, let her know and give her the chance to make up her own mind,"_ she'd told both fidgeting, guilty-looking men, hands on hips and eyes narrowed, _"but I better not see any unmarried debauchery going on! You make an honest woman of that girl before anything that shouldn't happens, or so help me Merlin, I'll tan your hides blue and then hex your offending bollocks off! Do I make myself clear?"_

Briefly, Hermione smiles to herself. There'd been a lot of 'unmarried debauchery' going on. A lot of married, too, in the years since. Sirius's arms tighten around her, his hand smoothing over the very large evidence of that married debauchery absentmindedly, and that little place inside of her aches.

Her arms loosen from her husband to circle, link and cradle the child she's carrying. A solid kick answers her self-reassurance.

"He's fine," she whispers, talking as much to herself and Sirius as the baby. "Your Daddy is going to be fine. Just you wait."

~0~

She's lost count of how many times she's repeated the sentence when a Patronus springs into the room. The Jackrabbit trails bright, pure light as it comes to a stop in front of Sirius and Hermione, and the room collectively holds it breath, waiting for Tonks to speak.

"We've found him. Harry's taken him to St Mungo's. It isn't terribly bad but we expect he'll be in overnight. I'll meet you in the lobby."

The pair don't even have to communicate. At any other time, Sirius wouldn't allow apparition, overly anxious about it's effect on the baby (something Remus always backs him up on), but now he doesn't say a word. The _crack_ fades even as the Patronus does, and when they appear in triage at England's main wizarding hospital, two sets of eyes lock on a head of ruffled turquoise hair.

"Where is he?" Hermione demands, striding up to the Auror, hand intertwined with Sirius's. Tonks nods her head towards the corridor and then has to run to catch up with the pair.

"We found him in Epping Forest weaving through the trees," she says, falling in beside Sirius and taking his elbow to lead the two in the right direction. "He was a bit beaten up and he's been drugged, so it's safe to assume the Amur got to him, but it looks like he was able to escape before anything too horrific happened-"

Hermione stops dead in the middle of the corridor and rounds on Tonks, expression livid. " _Too_ horrific?" she snaps, leaning into Sirius's hand slowly rubbing her back in a startling contrast that shouldn't take Tonks by surprise anymore. "How is the fact that he was beaten and drugged not _too_ horrific?!"

Tonks's lips thin. "He's still alive," she says bluntly, and Hermione's face twists as her body sags. Sirius wraps an arm around her waist. Tonks sighs. "Look, I'm not trying to sugarcoat it. Both you and I know that if he _hadn't_ gotten away, we would've likely only found a body. The Amur aren't playing around. But he _did_ and he'll be fine with a little TLC. I'm assuming you can take care of that part?"

When Hermione doesn't say anything, Sirius nods, a sharp, pissy little movement that all but bellows his fear and his fury to anyone who knows him well. Tonks knows him extremely well, and her currently teal-coloured eyes glitter with amusement.

"Right. Well, his room's the first on the left 'round the corner. Harry's in there watching over him, just send him my way. Little punk thinks he can get out of paperwork, doesn't he? Just try not to make the mediwitches come running too quickly, yeah?"

She winks at them and steps back, and Hermione is holding onto Sirius's hand for dear life as they approach the room. Harry looks up when they walk through the door.

"He's fine," he says firmly as they round the bed. "He's fine," he repeats, and then closes his mouth because neither witch or wizard are listening. They don't notice when he slips out.

Remus's hair isn't soft. It's oily and dirty and coarse. But that doesn't stop Hermione from running her hand through it, brushing it out of his eyes. Said hand trembles, and maybe Remus feels this, because his eyes open and he stares silently up at the two people standing over him.

They stare back.

"We love you."

Sirius's voice is rough. Remus doesn't move.

"I know. I love you too."

With a sound of disgust, Sirius lets go of his wife's hand and moves to stand by the window. His stance is wide and his arms are folded, and Hermione watches him for a moment before turning back to Remus. Remus's eyes are on Sirius too, but they flick to her and then away at her unforgiving expression, falling to her stomach. He swallows heavily.

"Do you want this child?" Hermione abruptly demands, the words hissing out of her like a tea kettle and shrieking nearly as loud. Jaw falling open at the question, wide green eyes snap up.

"Yes! Yes, of course I do!"

"So you run?" Sirius is at the bed, his voice a bark. "You run, Moony? You run when you _know_ the Amur are capturing and killing at least one werewolf a month?!"

"Have you no self-preservation at all?" his wife continues, her voice shaking at the end. Remus looks down. Sirius snorts derisively.

"Of course he doesn't. He doesn't care about anyone but himself, so why would he care about a child that's biologically his?"

There's silence after that and it's a lifetime before anyone speaks again. Remus fiddles with the blanket covering him, his face drawn into harsh, dismayed lines and Hermione steps into Sirius's arms. They stand and they wait and when Remus does speak, his words ricochet.

"That's it, though."

"What is?" Sirius mutters, his lips on Hermione's hair.

"She's mine. Our daughter's m-mine. She could… she could... all the backlash. She'll have to f-face that." The corner of his lips are white and his eyes are fierce when he finally looks up. "I have to face that."

The pause is as pregnant as Hermione is.

"And you thought not being around to help her deal with whatever might pop up was the best course of action?" she mumbles into Sirius's chest when she can speak. Remus's exhale is shallow and painful, and he doesn't answer, but his thoughts are as loud as if he's spoken them verbally.

 _I thought that if I wasn't around she wouldn't have to face them at all._

Hermione shifts and lets out a sound and turns towards the bed. "Bloody twit. We knew the risks. And this is one of the main reasons why I didn't want to know," she sighs, hesitating and then reaching for the hand laying on top of the blanket, folding her own around it. Remus jerks, then clamps his fingers around hers, and the breath he sucks in and releases sounds like it's the first breath he's taken in a week.

Sirius's hand is flat on Hermione's back. He doesn't come any closer.

"We didn't have a choice."

"I know. Doesn't make it easier, does it?"

They hadn't wanted the tests their mediwitch had insisted on. But there were complications no one had forseen, leaving Hermione bedridden for longer than they liked, and to rule out anything heriditary, they'd established paternity. The tests had come back fine, the problem relatively mundane in comparison. But the instant Remus found out he was their daughter's father, things had gone into overdrive.

Hermione knows he's been struggling. He's been struggling from the beginning. She just hadn't realized exactly how much until she and Sirius had woken up alone.

"You don't mind?"

The whisper holds so much doubt and torment that Sirius and Hermione have focused on Remus almost before he finishes speaking. His eyes have dropped again, his body hunched. To offer is instinctive, and Hermione moves closer and brings his hand up to drop a kiss on his knuckles.

Sirius stays back.

"Mind what?" she asks. Remus's breath rattles from him and his eyes are a bullet of terrified green as he meets Sirius's stony gaze.

"That I-I'm the father. That she's m-mine. I'm afraid… I'm afraid… d-do you resent it? Resent m-me?"

Sirius's sharp inhale lets loose the control he's been scrambling to hold on to. His eyes widen, then fire, and his tempermental patience snapping is ridiculously audible.

"Do you think I fucking _care_ about that?!" he explodes, shooting towards the bed, planting both hands on it and leaning forward. "I love you! And I love our daughter just as much now as I did when we had equal chance of being her biological father! Finding out she isn't my blood doesn't change the way I feel about her or our wife or _you,_ you fucking nutter! _I love you!_ Nothing's ever going to change that!"

In much the same way that the words pour from Sirius, the air streams from Remus, his lungs concaving and then filling with something other than oxygen, eyes bright. His back straightens and he meets Sirius's eyes, and Sirius growls, grabs him by the collar of his hospital gown, jerks him towards him and kisses him brutally. Hermione watches, a smile beginning to grow, as Remus let's out a muffled whimper, buries his hands in Sirius's hair and kisses him back.

When Sirius steps back and Remus falls into the mattress with a thump, both men breathing hard, she lays her hand on Remus's cheek. Dilated eyes spring to her.

"I love you," she says softly. The constant, ever-thrumming tension dissipates, evaporates, and Remus's smile is gradual and calm and startingly serene. He leans up and their lips meet in a kiss that's the opposite of the claiming between him and Sirius but is no less passionate. His tongue is languid as it brushes hers.

She's laying on the bed when he pulls back, tucked into his side as much as her belly lets her. He sighs and his fingers spread across the life growing inside her.

His daughter.

 _Their_ daughter.

"Have you stopped being a daft pillock now?" Sirius asks, his voice a croak. Remus doesn't answer. Instead, he leans down and presses gentle lips to Hermione's belly, then looks up and holds out the arm not wrapped around his wife to his husband. A pitch-black brow rises haughtily and then with a subtle wand movement, the bed enlarges in size. Sirius rounds it and climbs on, shifting Remus a little until his head's on Sirius's shoulder and his hand is playing with Hermione's hair. Remus smiles at the feel of Sirius's lips on his forehead, Hermione's fingers making tiny circles on his collarbone.

"I'm sorry."

Hermione grumbles. "Just don't do it again," she sighs. Sirius hums in agreement and rests his cheek on the top of Remus's head.

When Harry and Tonks creep into the room an hour later, they find three asleep instead of one, although by the looks of the way the trio are tangled together on the bed, they could very well be classified as a single being. Satisfied with this, the two Aurors share a look and exit just as quietly as they entered, leaving Sirius, Hermione and Remus Lupin-Black undisturbed.

They remain that way for the three months in takes for their daughter to arrive in the world.


End file.
